It had been nearly twenty years since Jacob had set foot inside a hospital, but one whiff of the bleach, sanitizer, Lysol and recirculated air and it all came rushing back. The fear. The anger. He felt like that foster child all over again, being escorted down sterile white halls by various hospital staff. He'd hated them. Hated the ones that believed the lies his foster parents had told. Hated the ones that hadn't and called Social Services. No doubt they'd patting themselves on the back, not realized the consequences that inevitably befell Jacob as a result of their actions. Mostly though, he'd hated himself, for being so small. So weak. So helpless. He'd sworn after that last cast had been removed only a few days shy of his thirteenth birthday that he'd never feel that way again.

"Penny for your thoughts?" Hartwell appeared at his elbow wearing a lightly flirtatious smile. Apparently her distemper with him had passed.

"I'm wondering where you left your primary." He took a long sip from his bottle of water, waiting for a response.

"She's in the bathroom down the hall. I presume you don't intend for me to follow her into the stall." He was half tempted to tell her to do just that, but that was simply his bad mood taking the reins. He knew that nothing that had happened was Hartwell's fault. It was a situation neither of them could have anticipated and they both had reacted as best they could. He needed to put his own feelings aside and play the hand he'd been dealt.

"What have the doctors told Scott about Korpal's condition?"

"Broken bones, internal injuries. They'll know more when he gets out of surgery, but that will take a few more hours." Presuming the doctor didn't die on the table, he would be relatively safe until he was in recovery. By that time Dembe would be a position to ensure no one entered Korpal's room who wasn't meant to.

"Visiting hours will be over soon. Are they kicking Scott out?" Jacob had no idea how these places worked. He couldn't see the harm in letting family members linger in waiting rooms while their loved one were under the knife, but he wasn't a hospital administrator.

"I wish. Currently the woman is the reigning queen of this place. It seems like every member of staff has dropped by to offer prayers and sympathies." Hartwell's tone told Jacob she shared his opinion regarding the value of such sentiments. Empty words, signifying nothing. Social niceties people felt obliged to pay, lest they be thought insensitive. Still, not everyone thought like he did. Maybe Liz did take comfort in the platitudes offered by Korpal's co-workers.

"What more can you tell me about the incident?" The agent had to have something to offer him other than the license plate. Glen had promised to run the number, but it undoubted belonged to a stolen car that would ultimately be discovered torched somewhere. He needed some kind of lead to chase.

"Not much. I was following the target out of the restaurant. He kissed the blonde on the cheek and put her into a cab. The boyfriend then left on foot, in the direction of the hospital. He waited for the signal and just as the light turned, a grey sedan roared around the corner and mowed the guy down in the middle of crosswalk." Korpal put the blonde in a cab? Why hadn't he gotten in with her, back to her place, or to a hotel?

Jacob shook his head. How Korpal chose to conduct his affair wasn't the issue here. He needed to stay focused on the details that mattered.

"If the assailant drove around the corner, there's no way he could have seen Korpal was in the street without a spotter. Did you see anyone?" Hartwell's lips thinned. The moment's pause was all it took to tell Jacob that the exemplary agent had slipped up in some way. He waited a beat, wondering if she would compound her error by lying to him about it.

"A waiter followed me out with a cell phone in his hand. He asked me if it was mine. I'd thought he was just hitting on me." He had to hand it to the kid, it was a good excuse. He probably sent the text the second he had eyes on Korpal, then covered his tracks by pretending the phone had been lost by one of the restaurant patrons.

"Description?"

"5' 10". Hispanic. 120-125 pounds. 17/18 years old. He took off after the accident." Jacob fixed Hartwell with his coldest stare.

"And you didn't think that was suspicious?" Hartwell returned the look with a scowl of her own.

"A teenage boy of color avoiding the police? No, I didn't think it was overly suspicious. This kid was no agent." Though Jacob didn't relish jumping to conclusions, he was inclined to agree. From his description and the way he'd fled the scene, the boy didn't sound like a professional. Odds were the kid was just as much a mark as Korpal, which meant he was likely in just as much danger.

"Doesn't have to be, just greedy and gullible." This was actually good news. The kid could be decent lead, assuming Jacob could find him before the hit-man did. Assassins tended not to leave loose ends. The question was, would he seek out Korpal first or this witness?

If it were Jacob, he'd target the boy. Korpal was unreachable at present, and even if the doctor did survived and regain consciousness, it wasn't as if he possessed any remotely damning information.

Jacob checked his watch. It had been about two hours since the attempted hit. That was more than enough time for the driver to destroy and ditch the car. The killer would already be looking for the boy. The fact the kid took off was promising. It told Jacob the teenager knew he life was in jeopardy. Whatever story the assassin had fed the kid to get him to cooperate, it probably hadn't included vehicular homicide. Hopefully after realizing he had been lied to by a murderer, the kid knew better than go home. If he didn't, then the boy was likely already dead.

"Did you establish a cover story?" Hartwell rolled her eyes as if insulted by the question.

"I chatted up an old woman when I arrived. Her husband had a stroke and is in surgery. If anyone asks I'm his beloved niece. How about you? Do you intend stand here, holding up the wall all night?" Jacob considering telling her, but after her slip with the waiter, and the fact it took her two hours to share that piece of pertinent information, he wasn't interested in reading her in. He settled instead for one of his trademark enigmatic smiles.

"You should head back." Hartwell tilted her head to side, not doubt trying to gauge his mood.

"Not without what I came for." The operative stepped around him to the vending machine on his left. After feeding in the dollar, she bent at the waist, ostensibly to check the prices on the lower selections. Thanks to her swoop top, the action afforded an excellent view of her black lace bra, not to mention her perfect and prominently displayed ass. A quick scan of the hall told him he was not the only man, and in one case woman, to have noticed.

Hartwell glanced up at him and smiled seductively. A week ago he would have been more than willing to smile back, but now he merely raised an eyebrow. He was under no illusions about her motives for this little display. She was hoping to use sex to control him. If Hartwell thought fucking him would buy his silence about her screw-up, she had not read him well at all.

Whatever the operative saw in his face, it was clearly not the expression she'd anticipated. She straightened, her smile disappearing into a look of total indifference. Whether that was any more genuine than the flirtatious facade was anyone's guess. She entered in the code for a Snickers bar, collected her snack, and left without another word.

Jacob watched her retreating form with detached admiration. She was objectively stunning, but that fact mattered significantly less to him today than it had when he'd first met her. Jacob wasn't exactly a believer in monogamy or long term relationships, but it wasn't like him to lose interest so quickly, especially with someone as talented in bed as Hartwell was. Was it his professional irritation with the woman that had left him suddenly uninspired by her? Or was it something else?

"Was that the St. Regis operative? You truly have the most unfortunate taste in women." A genuine smile stretched across Jacob's face as he turned toward the rich and familiar voice. Dembe stood before him, regaled in the blue shirt and black slacks of the DC police. A badge was clipped over heart, and a walkie attached at the shoulder. Jacob squinted at the pin that sat atop the right breast pocket of his brother's shirt.

"Well, well, 'Officer Lawrence', is it? The uniform suits you. I was a bit worried Sergeant Thomson wouldn't be able to find one in your size." He made a mental note to send the cop a bonus for setting Dembe up so quickly. Another lesson from Reddington: Good work should be acknowledged and rewarded. That's what kept people loyal.

Dembe raised his eyes to the heavens. Jacob mentally congratulated himself. It usually took him much longer to exasperate his perpetually zen brother.

"You do remember I cut my visit with my daughter short to do this for you?" Jacob felt a rare pang of guilt. Since Dembe discovered the girl's existence, about six years ago, he'd make it a point to maintain regular contact, calling every few weeks, and visiting every six months. Jacob himself have been dragged along more than once. Watching his oldest friend with the girl had been a revelation. Dembe adored her. His whole face lit up in way Jacob had never seen before.

"What? I was paying you a compliment. If I was a criminal and I saw you running at me wearing that thing, you'd scare the hell out of me." Dembe's lips fought the smirk threatening to soften his expression, but Jacob could tell it was a losing battle.

"You are a criminal." Jacob waved him off.

"You know what I mean. So how is that niece of mine?" He'd never admit it, but every time his brother went to visit Isabella, he had nightmares that Dembe would never come back. Jacob knew he should want that for his best friend; the happiness Dembe felt when he was with his child. He should encourage his brother to settle down with her permanently, to give up the dangerous and rootless life he led with Jacob and Reddington. Unfortunately he was too selfish for that.

"Even more lovely than when you last saw her. Missing her uncle, of course." And the hits just kept on coming.

"Please send her my love." Jacob resolved to send his niece a large gift when all this was over. Not exactly an even exchange for stealing precious time with her father, but it was something.

"Of course." With Jacob's guilt slightly lightened, they could both get down to business.

"Check in with the head nurse. Korpal should be in surgery for a few more hours. Hartwell and the primary are in the waiting room on the other end of this floor." Jacob strode toward the elevator, confident Dembe could handle any issue that arose. His mind hummed with singular purpose, with no more thoughts of Dembe, Isabella, Hartwell, or Elizabeth Scott. He would find the waiter, with any luck while the kid still had a pulse.